


Neptune

by Sapphirre98



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied one-sided attraction, Kinda, M/M, Slight fluff, also slight angst, vaguely defined relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 13:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphirre98/pseuds/Sapphirre98
Summary: Wilson is determined to make the best of things, despite his deficiencies.





	Neptune

**Author's Note:**

> My Valentine's gift for SuperSparticle. Hope you enjoy mahoi ^_^

"You don't have to, Higgsbury."

"Oh, but I want to," Wilson countered as he carried a steaming hot bowl of stew over to where Maxwell sat. 

"But you don't _have_ to." 

Wilson chuckled at Maxwell's indignation. He set Max's food down beside them and joined his friend on the carpet flooring. A cold mid-autumn breeze ran through the camp, chilling him to his bones. Surely, Maxwell could feel it too. 

Max's spoon clinked as he stirred the soup, an absent glaze covering his face. "You know I don't like being babied."

Fingers fidgeting in the chill, Wilson found himself nodding even though Max was not looking at him. Of course he didn't like being babied. After all, hubris had always been Maxwell's weakness. That part of him had never went away. As a result, Wilson knew, there would be things he would never admit to. Not out loud. 

"But,,, uh, thank you, " came an awkward mumble across the way. 

"You're welcome," Wilson smiled. Some progress had been made, despite the odds.

Redness flushed across Maxwell's face at the reply, and Wilson would bet with utmost confidence that the autumnal cold was not to blame. He felt bad for him; embarrassment had its roots in shame, and shame tended to be connected to something much more fundamental.

This was all very emotional business, which he had acknowledged earlier on in their, er, relationship. The thought had a tendency to stab at him whenever he let his mind wander; mental wellness was not his forte in the slightest, and he couldn't help but feel as though he was doing Maxwell a disservice by being the one at his side to offer support, since emotions often had little basis in logic. As a result, Wilson continuously found himself having trouble understanding Maxwell's behavior and how it was connected to his deeper underlying issues. Maxwell was not a clock or an organ whose functioning was based in the interlocking of various smaller parts. Wilson, being a man of science with a mind hardwired to analyze things in a logical and scientific light, was at a loss when this mentality proved to be incompatible with the problem he sought to solve. Ah, and there; 'solve.' Maxwell, like any human being - and yes, he was a human being - could not just be 'solved' like a puzzle or mathematical equation. It frustrated him.

But that's not to say that success was out of reach. Small victories here and there helped to keep both of their spirits up, though Maxwell still preferred to feign indifference to his efforts' yields. In fact, one of the major things Wilson had to learn in order to make progress with Max was Max's constant need to pretend that he didn't care. External encouragement tended to have the opposite of the intended effect; when Wilson had tried to celebrate whenever Maxwell did something of his own accord, he had found that Max would actively avoid doing said thing again. That was the case for asking for assistance, physical contact, and hugs. Well, maybe Maxwell just really hated hugs. Wilson still had no idea. Maxwell was a bit like a cat in a new house; you had to ignore it whenever it came out of hiding to get it to come out more often. Once Wilson had figured that out, things started to go much more smoothly between them.

Glancing up at the empty bowl in Maxwell's lap, a gentle warmth in his chest reminded him of exactly why he couldn't give up. There was too much at stake between them - too much they had built up that he just wasn't willing to let go of. Too many small, insignificant feelings that somehow meant everything when the blanket was over him. Too many tiny, fragile steps Max had taken forward. Too many regrets he'd be left with otherwise. Too many words left unspoken.

Wilson breathed deeply, exhaling into the evening air. He wouldn't mind if things stayed that way for a while. He may have already committed to this lifelong endeavor, but at the same time he also wasn't ready to. There... were a lot of things, he wasn't ready for. And yet, he hadn't been ready for this hellish survival nightmare when he was pulled in, either. Tending to a broken, dethroned shadow king was no different from that. Well, aside from one thing. Now there was no rush. No scrambling to figure something out, no imminent death looming over them should they fail. They had what might as well be all the time in the world to figure things out. If they were going to live forever in this purgatory, then as far as Wilson was concerned they might as well take their time.

A mumbling voice pulled Wilson away from his thoughts, reminding him of the time.

...

Evening signaled for a return to their humble shelter. Logs were added to the fire, whose dwindling embers glowed with a soft, iridescent light against the darkening sky.

Only once he had fallen into their shared nest of blankets did the telltale heaviness of exhaustion fall over Wilson. An unknown amount of time later, just as he had begun to drift freely, a foreign weight snaked over his side and pulled at his body, introducing it to a warm being pressed against his back. Wilson's consciousness came back to him long enough to make a noise, to which a response he would not remember answered, "cold."

Wilson dreamed of his house that night, with Maxwell working beside him on a machine to shake people's hands. There was no roof, and when he flew up into the sky he became free.


End file.
